like a tree in the dead of city
tough skin is what i need
to think about myself
as standing tall and without bend
tickling the sky with my leaves
tough skin is what i speak
through the chirps of tawny birds
and the billions of bugs’ marching feet
along the branches of my trunk
Leonard sang of Him a broken sailor.
a sheppard in a foreign land long lost.
me a foreigner in my own iced soul.
always stomping on black soften thin ice.
wondering if He and me have thin soles.
and if we were Him would we get thorny crowns.
or would the thorns on our sides be our heads.
He stands there watching for eternity.
the state of my people eternal too?
for bread is not enough we need love too.
will You come to us on earthly matters.
at some point we’ve become judges all here.
the court of man is densely packed with noise.
Leonard sang of Him a broken sailor.
they treat me any kind of way
thirteen pounds of furry muscle
they demand as they stare at me
guilt me with otherworldly cuteness
i beg and i plead my very soul to keep
for a headbutt or a tail hug
to no avail
i rush into the kitchen room
they like sentries cold in their eyes of jewel
manipulate me to open their favorite chow
and place hers on the dinning table
he satisfied to be served on the counter tops
she green gold black red
mighty swift so small is she
her wings sing out loud
few places i get to fly where nectar is plenty at dawn beyond the fog at the foot of the hills trumpets of flowers are hard to find have flown a mile industrial towers are where my forest is buried reduced to beg to borrow instead from flowers not wild that came from soulless bottomless mills Dzunuk’wa’s ornate companion was i teacher of the happy psyche freedom lover wild as thunder yet gentle like spring rain on tender ferns the vines of my Creator sky have turned to hardened wires criss crossing dividing my stars my wings fearless beating like the heart that dies so that new hearts burst out in glee through out the meadow floors of our collective imagination
today i placed a
stone upon your head and i
was a child again
if
you
crack
my
heart
open
a
light
will
spring
out
mitosis
begins
you have now become
my comfort fire and scent
watching prayers float
she’s here again
my breath she
takes by force
fear her grip
my mind bending
soul hanging on
pulse pounding hard
tears all dry
moist hands shaking
thoughts race away
pupils open black
what is wrong
i silently ask
rituals mantras dissipate
falling into fog
again the silence
of spirit prevails
at night is when i like to see
all those things that mean to me
the most and yet are so simple
at night is when i like to feel
through those little childish trinkets
the force of the world’s throat
speaking to me
at night is when i like to think
that those ideas imparted through pictures
teach me to be me
at night i sense the echoes
that bounce from my own glass ceilings
suspended by wildflower buttons
and the slurs of lunatics
at night i taste the salt of tears
erupting from the memories
of how i came to be
the keeper of these silly little trappings
words less spoken 